| Humor Fiction posted March 12, 2019 |
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It was calling my name.
The Last Piece Of Fried Chicken
by Sally Law
There it sat on an ordinary white platter.
A pile of tender, mouthwatering, southern fried chicken made by the Colonel Himself.
It was golden, fried to perfection.
Only one succulent breast portion remained.
I picked up my fork nonchalantly as I engaged others in conservation.
With lightning speed, I dove wild-eyed.
Three forks struck the breast. One missed, however, stabbing me in the hand.
They gave me the last piece of chicken out of pity.
75 Words Flash Fiction contest entry
There it sat on an ordinary white platter.
A pile of tender, mouthwatering, southern fried chicken made by the Colonel Himself.
It was golden, fried to perfection.
Only one succulent breast portion remained.
I picked up my fork nonchalantly as I engaged others in conservation.
With lightning speed, I dove wild-eyed.
Three forks struck the breast. One missed, however, stabbing me in the hand.
They gave me the last piece of chicken out of pity.
 Recognized |
So worth it. My mother loved Kentucky Fried Chicken, the original recipe known through the south and my household. I can still her coming through the front door with a bucket of the tasty chicken.
Art called: Waiting For A Picnic, by VMarguarite of FanArt Review.
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and 2 member cents. Art called: Waiting For A Picnic, by VMarguarite of FanArt Review.
Artwork by VMarguarite at FanArtReview.com
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